


Stuck In My Lungs

by breakajaw



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Other, odd romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 14:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20622251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakajaw/pseuds/breakajaw
Summary: This is a dangerous game. Then again, you always did like playing with your life, hm? There’s a laugh, distinct and floating all around the room as if in response to your thought.





	1. Chapter 1

Fear. Oh, delicious, delectable, such a beautiful sapor. Sometimes you can almost smell it on yourself, permeating the air as you try and ignore that spiny feeling of eyes on your skin. But you can’t, can you? Can never really forget that just on the other side of the window, just behind that tree, just between the cracks in the attic door, something watches. It watches. Oh yes, It watches, and waits, and plans. You know exactly what It wants. What you want. Why, isn’t it the very same thing? But you can’t bring yourself to admit it, because to do that would be to acknowledge that it’s too late to go back.  
This thing that watches you, relishes in the little shivers and checks over your shoulder when you feel Its gaze sinking into you, has a name. Has a form. You’ve seen It, sitting just outside your vision, creeping along the shadows of your peripheral. A clown, spindly and silver with a dripping red smile, along with others, like that oddly colored bird that followed you that one day, or that crimson balloon floating in the empty field behind your house. You’ve heard it, too. Reedy and almost cartoonish, rasping your name between dreams, calling your attention in public places to get a rise out of you. This strange little game of cat and mouse goes on daily, and with every sunset you feel It getting closer. But are you truly afraid, or is this shaky feeling something else? Anticipation, perhaps? You card through every possible emotion in your head, anything and everything except what it truly is. You daren’t name it, because if you did, that would be the end of the game. The culmination of all this madness.  
But isn’t that exactly what you want, deep down in your festering little heart? Oh yes. That’s it.  
Infatuation.  
Ah, there it is. All out in the open now.  
This is a dangerous game. Then again, you always did like playing with your life, hm? There’s a laugh, distinct and floating all around the room as if in response to your thought. A smell like burnt sugar and something deeper, dirtier fills the space between the two of you. For a moment, all is still and quiet, a split second of a perfectly preserved scene. And then It lurches forward, long fingers grasping at your wrists, your sleeves, nose buried in your hair and inhaling deeply. You don’t scream, any sound you were about to make staining your throat as you collapse against the silken silver of Its suit.  
It takes one last sniff at your hair, pulling back the tiniest amount to show you that glistening smile.  
“Oh, you and old Pennywise are gonna have so much _fun_!”  
As It wraps you up in skinny limbs, you sigh against the ruff of Its collar. It’s the strangest feeling of leaving home and coming back to it all at once.


	2. Chapter 2

You wake with a jolt. Your room, empty and filled with a cold so oppressive you tremble under its weight, greets you with the pale light of a new sun. Everything is how it always is, the same routine of countless other mornings, yet something is different. It feels like a new beginning. The realization fills you with an odd mix of exhilaration and worry. 

The house feels different, too. Every darkened corner or half open door seems to hide Its presence, just barely there. Every time you check, though, you find nothing waiting for you. 

_ Maybe that's for the best,  _ you think.  _ Maybe It's gone. _

Frowning into your coffee, a stab of something like disappointment shoots through your chest. 

Is this the end of it, then? The thought stirs something heavy in your stomach, and it reminds you of when you were a kid and you'd have something snatched away from you. 

For weeks, every day goes on like this. Wake, search, wallow in ever growing frustration and mild chagrin. 

By now, you've almost given up on It. Written that night off as a silly dream and stuffed your dejection deep into the cracks of your mind. Every day now is just as mundane and routine as before any of this happened. And that's...fine. That's okay. You've grown out of such nonsensical fantasies. Your kettle whistles on the stove, and you prepare a nice, hot cup of calming tea, like a sensible and rational adult. The tv blares some show tune you've heard a thousand times, and you get comfortable on the couch. Your blanket is soft and warm, your tea is hot and soothing. 

And the hand creeping over the back of the couch next to you is slow and deliberate. You yelp, spilling hot tea over your wrist and wincing as it stings your skin. There's a laugh, just like that night. The hand becomes an arm, then a shoulder, and then It comes tumbling over the couch to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of you. Heart pounding, wrist burning, you sit in stunned silence for a moment and a half before Pennywise leans Its head into Its hands and winks. 

“Did ya miss me?”

Suddenly you're... _ angry,  _ really. You slam your mug down, spillage be damned. 

“Where  _ were _ you?  _ Why  _ did you just up and disappear? I  _ waited  _ for you,  _ forgot _ about you!”

It only smiles, a single long digit tapping at Its cheek. You decide you might as well ask more questions as long as you're here. 

“What is this, anyway? What kind of game are you playing with me?”

It stares at you, completely still now. Even the tv has gone silent. The only sound remaining is the clock in the hallway, a distant tick

tick. 

tick. 

In a flash of silver and red, It's on you, barely inches from your face and hands pressing your shoulders to the couch. Its head tilts, drool spilling over Its lips and onto Its collar. You don't blink, don't breathe, only stare into Its eyes as they suddenly focus on your face. 

“What this is, little  _ treat _ , is something new. You've caught old Pennywise’s attention. And now,” It rumbles, a new hand sliding along your neck to grip your hair, “now we see if you can play the game.”

Its mouth opens, a sound almost like tearing, You don't even flinch when Its teeth sink into your shoulder. 

**Author's Note:**

> that’s right gamers i’m exposing myself as a dirty clown lover. I will be adding more chapters. I plan to, anyway


End file.
